


Ner Parjai

by Shelaar (JonathanAnubian)



Series: Setting Souls Aflame [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Biology, Compulsion, Faking interest in someone you revile so you can escape captivity, Forced Relationship, I dunno the word for that, Infiltration, M/M, Mandalorian Culture (Star Wars), Missions Gone Wrong, Pre-Relationship, Rating May Change, Stewjoni Culture (Star Wars), Tags May Change, Taung Ancestry, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28652670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonathanAnubian/pseuds/Shelaar
Summary: When Obi-wan was 18 he was sent to Mandalore to help protect the Duchess Satine. In another timeline he and Satine managed to avoid anyone who might recognize Obi-wan as a Stewjonian. But this time he is soundly caught by someone he can't fight or run away from.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Pre Vizsla
Series: Setting Souls Aflame [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070174
Comments: 16
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Changed their ages to 18 for Obi-wan and 22 for Pre.

They’d been following the little outsider on the cameras for a while now. The little sneak thought they could just don the armor and steal into their camp as if they belonged! But the way they moved was all wrong, as if they were unused to the way the armor shifted on their body. They also didn’t seem to carry any weapons at all. To any self respecting Mando’ad it was obvious they were a fake. Only his curiosity was keeping them from being dogpiled by warriors.

“Your orders, Sir?” Watching as the intruder talked their way past another of his guards, somehow, he sneered.

“I want to see what they’re looking for. Keep an eye on them and alert me if you lose them or if you find out what they’re looking for.” The security officer nodded and returned to the monitors.

Watching the intruder for a moment longer he frowned as he looked over their gangly limbs. The armor hid it well but they seemed a lot smaller than he first thought. Perhaps it was because he was used to anticipating his enemy’s next move, or perhaps it was the soul of Manda itself, but he suddenly felt as if he knew where the intruder was heading.

Leaving the security room he turned toward the food storage area, the darksaber pulsing at his hip. He glanced down at it in confusion. Normally it just sat there quietly, like any weapon, but at times he swore it was alive. Ignoring it for the moment he hid outside the storage room, re-ordering the patrols and giving the intruder a chance to slip inside.

When he caught them doing exactly that he grinned.

Heading inside he aimed a stun bolt at their back, wanting to interrogate them to find out just how they’d managed to get through all of his security. They dodged to the left and pulled out a knife. Kicking it out of their hands he slammed his fist into the visor of their helmet, knowing the ill fit of it would make the blow even worse. Their head slammed back and they must not have secured the helmet properly because it went flying across the room, bouncing off a wall and skidding across the floor.

The young man that was glaring up at him with a bloody nose had red hair and blue-green eyes filled with a mixture of fury and pain. Inside his chest he felt a jolt as the darksaber pulsed again. “Stewjoni’ad?” The young man looked both confused and frightened, aiming a kick at the back of his knee.

With a growl he blocked the kick and hauled them off balance before shoving them to the floor, one arm across their windpipe. It was clear he was both larger and more skilled in hand to hand. “You’re from Stewjon, aren’t you?” The young man clenched his teeth and jutted out his jaw.

Oh, he wanted a fight, clearly. But something was off about this. The teen should have been able to recognize a true blooded Mando’ad just by being near one, yet there was no reaction. No deference either as the teen tried to shove him off. He lifted the young man and slammed him into the floor once again, only feeling a little guilty as the darksaber flared cold.

“Answer me!” He commanded, lifting his arm from their throat so they could speak. The teen looked up at him in confusion as he finally spoke.

“That’s what I was told!” His Mando’a was passable but it was accented by something that reeked of a core world.

“I’m going to remove my arm and you’re going to stay right there. Understand?” The young man gaped at him. “Do you understand?” Wincing the teen nodded before letting his head drop back to the floor.

Standing he looked down at the young man with some interest. His hair was red like all Stewjonians and his skin was fair with a smattering of freckles. If it wasn’t for the bloody nose and the budding bruise on his face he’d be quite attractive. Although… he thought with sudden clarity, he really should ask. They could very well identify as a woman or as neither. It was impossible to tell at a first glance.

It looked like he would have to switch to speaking Basic though, as much as the idea rankled him. “I am Pre Vizsla, leader of Kyr’tsad, he/him. What is your name?” The teen was stunned into silence for a moment before he wet his lips to reply, a delicate tongue flicking out to wet pink lips.

“Obi-wan Kenobi, also he/him.” Ah, well that was at least something.

“Now then, Kenobi, why didn’t you just ask us for food if you were hungry?” The teen’s eyes went wide and he blinked at Pre as if he had grown a second head.

“Wh-what?” Pre sighed and motioned him to sit up.

“I don’t know what the cowards and traitors have told you, but we follow the old ways. You are a Stewjoni’ad, you would be under our protection if you but asked.”

“So you would just… give me your food?” Pre snorted.

“Oh no, it would come with a price. But we wouldn’t have harmed you for asking.” He smirked at the guarded look the teen was giving him. “Unfortunately I’ll need you to tell me where and how you got that armor before I allow you anything.” The teen’s lips became a thin line as he glowered up at Pre.

It made him smirk in amusement.

“Come now, we don’t have all day.” The teen grit his teeth then sighed, resigned.

“I took the owner by surprise, knocked them out, and stole it. They’re not far outside the perimeter, hidden in some rocks.” There was something he wasn’t saying but that was fine. Pre would draw it out of the teen later.

“Well seeing as it doesn’t belong to you we’ll be taking it back. Now.” The teen’s expression turned indignant then mortified when he realized that Pre meant it. “Get up, strip, and don’t try anything funny.” The teen opened his mouth to argue when the darksaber gave off another wave of power. The teen hissed and grabbed at his head as he slowly got to his feet.

Once he was standing the teen fumbled with the catches on the armor, showing his lack of training and familiarity. Was he an outsider? He had been surprised when Pre introduced himself so he must at least know who he was dealing with. The darksaber seemed to accept him as well so he was certainly a true Stewjoni’ad.

It was a mystery he was very keen on unraveling.

The last piece of armor fell and the redhead stood there in the flight suit, glaring at the floor angrily. A downright wicked thought came to mind as he gave the young man a once over. “The kute as well.” His eyes widened and his face turned red in embarrassment. “Do it.” He commanded. This time the redhead obeyed without being told twice.

Hesitantly he unzipped the top half of the flight suit and shrugged it off, pulling it over his shoulders and down his slender arms.

Seeing the scars and bruises that littered the redhead’s lithe body Pre felt suddenly and inexplicably enraged. The darksaber responded in kind, giving off waves of power that had the redhead shivering.

The redhead stepped out of the flight suit and dropped it on the ground. Standing in only his briefs he lifted his chin and glared defiantly at Pre, as if he could set him on fire with his eyes, even as he shivered from the cold of the storage room.

Oh, he liked this young man.

Taking a step forward he saw the redhead flinch, as if he was expecting to be attacked at any moment. Detaching his cloak he threw it around the young man’s shoulders to give him some warmth and allow him to cover his body. “That’s a little better, isn’t it?” The redhead looked at him in a mix of suspicion and confusion but didn’t argue as he pulled the cloak closed. “I’ll have someone bring you a set of clothes you can borrow for the time being. If you can behave I will treat you as a guest, rather than an intruder.” He tilted his helm slightly. “How does that sound?” The teen looked uncertain, nibbling on his bottom lip.

“I… alright.” Pre smirked at the content feeling that settled over him. Stewjoni’ade belonged to Mandalore, it was only appropriate that they be taken care of properly.

He commed ahead and ordered a set of clothing to be placed in his quarters and for the patrols to go searching for the idiot who had lost a fight to a lone Stewjoni teenager.

“I won’t be allowing you out of my sight, you understand?” The teen grit their teeth and nodded. “Jate.” _‘Good.’_ He said as he placed a hand against the redhead’s back and ushered him out of the storage room.

Yes, this was very good indeed. Having a Stewjoni’ad around would lend more credence to his claim to the title of Mand’alor. All he had to do was convince the young man that he was exactly where he should be; at Pre’s side.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-wan POV.

Obi-wan had been a ‘guest’ of Kyr’tsad for two weeks now and was getting quite agitated. The room he was being kept in was small, perhaps some sort of storage closet at some point, but at least he had some privacy. So far they hadn’t found out about his ability to touch the force, which was a miracle in and of itself. But it was just a matter of time now.

At first he had thought that this was some kind of trap. Surely the leader of the faction that wanted to kill Satine and return to the days of Mandalorians conquering the galaxy would recognize Obi-wan as the Jedi who had been accompanying the Duchess? But not once had anyone brought it up, not even to taunt him for being captured.

The first night Vizsla had taken him into a fairly large room where he had seen a set of clothes neatly folded on a bed, just waiting for him. He was told to dress and the man had, almost politely, turned his back to allow Obi-wan some privacy. As he changed the man pulled off his helmet and set it down on a table nearby.

He still isn’t certain why he hadn’t attacked the man when his back was turned and he was more vulnerable. It felt almost like instinct, like the force and yet… the usual sense of warning hadn’t been present. He had just… changed into the clothing and handed back the man’s cloak.

“Jate.” _‘Good.’_ He’d said, a pleased smile crossing his face that made Obi-wan shiver. The calculating look in the man’s eyes didn’t help as they roamed over his body. It was the same look slavers had given Obi-wan in the past. A look that said he was cataloging every little detail so he could figure out Obi-wan’s worth later.

He didn’t like it at all.

He’d been ordered to sit down and handed a filling meal, brimming with spices of course. The entire time he ate Vizsla sat across from him and watched him.

It made him highly uncomfortable.

There weren’t a lot of details on Pre Vizsla besides the fact that he was the knew owner of the Darksaber and considered the leader of Kyr’tsad after killing his own father. Obi-wan didn’t know his personality or his preferences and that was beginning to worry him greatly. The almost gentlemanly way he was being treated, and the lack of hostility, was unsettling to say the least.

“You won’t need to worry about food or accommodations while you’re with us, although we should have you checked over by a medic.” He shook his head.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to waste medical supplies on me.” The man chuckled and its warmth surprised him.

“I hit you fairly hard earlier and your face is a mess. Besides, we’ll need to know if you have any health requirements if you’re to stay here.” Obi-wan frowned.

“And if I don’t want to stay here?” The man’s expression sharpened and his eyes became cold.

“I’ll make you an appointment. Finish your meal.” There was a sense of pressure in the back of his mind, he’d experienced it before, and he felt himself picking up his fork again. It was almost like a mind trick but Obi-wan knew he was practically immune to them. So what was going on? This was the fifth time he’d felt as if he should obey this man. There was no real reason to comply but his body seemed to be moving of its own accord.

Going to see the medic was its own kind of hell. The entire time he’d worried that they would find out he was a Jedi. Their accents were thick and the Mando’a was a different dialect, making it hard for him to fully comprehend what they were saying. “You’re being put on a meal plan. You’re far too skinny.” Came the verdict. After a quick look at his bloody nose and a surprise hypo, contents unknown, he was allowed to leave with Vizsla.

They’d made a quick stop in a briefing room and the man barked orders too fast for him to follow. As he stood awkwardly behind Vizsla he noticed the stares and shuffled on his feet subconsciously. Someone called out to his captor and the man rounded on them with a thunderous look.

“Kaysh Stewjoni’ad, ner. Ke’ne tigaanu nu’duumyc!” Obi-wan puzzled over the words, knowing they were about him but not quite understanding what they meant. Kaysh meant he/she/they and Stewjoni’ad meant someone from Stewjon. Ner was a possessive, but he couldn’t be certain of the context. The second half completely baffled him. But as everyone’s focus shifted away from him he assumed that Vizsla had ordered the others to ignore him. Relaxing once he wasn’t the center of attention he attempted to listen in on the planning that was going on but he only understood a word in four.

Whatever it was he knew he wasn’t going to like it. Vizsla’s smug feeling of certainty meant he believed this plan of his would succeed in its goal.

After the meeting he was led to what was surely an office and ordered to sit down across from the man. They spent perhaps two hours in there, Vizsla doing paperwork and Obi-wan falling into a tentative meditation. He only realized his mistake when Vizsla placed a hand on his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him, startling him out of it.

“Meditation, hm? You would probably be more comfortable on a floor cushion.” He blinked in confusion and the man chuckled. “You seem surprised. I’m not sure where you were raised but I’m not surprised your family taught you meditation. It is a common thing for Stewjoni’ade.” Oh thank the force! The man thought he was just doing something that came naturally to someone from his home planet, as opposed to assuming he was a Jedi. “I’ll see if we can’t find you something more comfortable for next time.” It was a sincere offer that had him feeling puzzled and wary.

It was almost like the man was trying to be a perfect gentleman just for him. But that made no sense whatsoever. He was a blood thirsty terrorist who had planned attacks that killed countless families without care. Why would he be thinking about Obi-wan’s comfort?

“Come, they should have finished by now.” Begrudgingly he followed the man back to what he now realized had to be the man’s personal quarters.

He didn’t like where this was going. All his nerves were on high alert and the force was vibrating with a low level of danger.

“Here we are, Kenobi, your accommodations for the time being.” He started slightly at the use of his last name but remembered immediately afterward that he had given his actual name, for some unknown reason.

Looking into what had probably once been a storage space he was surprised to find a cot, table, and chair sitting neatly inside. Thank the force he wasn’t claustrophobic or this would have been a nightmare. “It’s only for the time being.” Came Vizsla’s voice behind him, closer than he would have liked. “Only until you understand your place here.”

A shiver of cold dread ran down his spine. Those words weren’t an idle threat, they were a promise.

“Now then, I have work to do. **You will stay in here and not cause any trouble. You will wait here until I return later for the next meal. Understand?** ” His mind blanked and his body tensed as the same heavy presence he had felt intermittently during their interactions settled over him once again. He found himself nodding without understanding why or how.

“I understand.” He would stay in the room quietly and not cause any trouble. Would wait until Vizsla returned to fetch him at the next meal.

It was only after he’d sat down on the cot and the door closed that he felt that pressure in the back of his mind ease. With a wrinkled brow and a low growl he jumped up from the cot and took a step toward the door, then stopped. His body would not move forward, no matter how much he wanted it to.

No. It seemed to say. We have to wait here. As if that was the most reasonable thing to do.

Frustrated he sat back down and pulled his knees to his chest, leaning back against the wall.

That had been the start of his seemingly never ending nightmare where he was forced to accompany Vizsla everywhere, like an accessory. At first the man had given him his space but slowly he had begun touching Obi-wan more. A hand on his arm or shoulder to catch his attention when his mind wandered. A hand against his lower back to lead him where the man wanted him to go. And now, as he sat next to Vizsla in the mess hall, an arm around his waist with a hand resting almost possessively on his hip.

With access to the force and Vizsla having gifted him a datapad with Mando’a lessons on it he now understood far more of what was going on than before. From what he could gather the surrounding warriors believed he _belonged_ to Vizsla. That this man had some sort of claim to him that came with owning the Darksaber.

If he hadn’t been waiting for the perfect chance to escape, once Vizsla had lowered his guard, he would have shoved the man away in absolute disgust. The more he learned about Death Watch’s plans the more he wanted to escape and use what he’d learned against them.

Unfortunately with the Darksaber at his side the man was immune to things like mind tricks, not that it would have been easy in the first place. Vizsla was one of the most bullheaded individuals he’d had the displeasure to meet.

“There were rumours that you’d found yourself a Stewjoni’ad future-spouse. People think that makes your claim to the title of Mand’alor more legitimate.” Said the new Mandalorian that Obi-wan hadn’t been introduced to. Apparently he was from a group that had been away on a mission for a month or so. “Doesn’t look as if he likes you much though.” Thankfully no one seemed to realize how fluent he already was in Mando’a, treating him like an ignorant Core-worlder.

Vizsla’s hand tightened on his hip and Obi-wan’s stomach fell through the floor. Was that what this was about? That made no sense at all! Why did it matter that he was from Stewjon? How did that make Vizsla’s claim more legitimate?

“Obi-wan.” Starting slightly at his name he turned to look at Vizsla and froze when a hand on the back of his neck pulled him forward into a kiss. His entire body shuddered in revulsion but just as soon as it began it was over. Vizsla turned to look at the new Mandalorian and raised a brow, as if kissing him was some sort of proof.

Obi-wan wanted to shove the man away from him, to spit on the floor in disgust, but a warning in the force had him sitting perfectly still instead. The new Mandalorian laughed as Vizsla made a comment about how ‘shy’ and ‘innocent’ Obi-wan was. There was a crude comment made by the new Mandalorian, he still didn’t know their name, and Vizsla made some sort of threat.

It was then that Obi-wan’s mind caught up with him and he realized with a dawning horror that he had the perfect way to lull Vizsla into a false sense of security.

All he had to do was act as if he was on board with the man’s advances.

A part of Obi-wan railed at the thought. But until he could figure out how Vizsla was controlling him he had no real options. He had to play the long game.

Force help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a
> 
> Kaysh Stewjoni’ad, ner. Ke’ne tigaanu nu’duumyc!- He’s Stewjonian, and mine. Do not touch him without permission!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did the Rating Change?- Because it's better to be safe than sorry.

Two days after he’d kissed Obi-wan in front of Taamor Saxon, and whoever else had been watching them in the mess hall, he noticed that the redhead had warmed up to him. Already he’d adjusted to the schedule that Pre had set for him and was learning Mando’a at a steady enough pace. It was clear he was well read, obedient, and had been raised to be polite. All good traits in a Stewjoni’ad. But his lack of knowledge about Stewjon and Mandalore was a glaring issue that Pre swore he would solve as soon as possible.

“Alor?” Looking up from his datawork he saw Obi-wan duck his head slightly and fidget on his cushion. The cushion Pre had ordered placed in his office so that the younger man could meditate comfortably if he didn’t feel like studying his datapad.

Seeing the man kneeling there so primly always made something in him feel both content and excited. It was probably the ancestral blood of the Taung running through his veins.

“Yes, Obi-wan?” The man bit down on his lower lip slightly and Pre found his eyes drawn to his mouth. The kiss from before had been brief, a way to assert his dominance more than anything, but he had been thinking about it nonstop ever since. Laying in his bed at the end of the cycle, knowing that Obi-wan was in the next ‘room,’ and remembering the pale scarred skin he had seen that first day. He wondered if the rest of him was just as soft as his lips had been…

“Is there any way I could… go out?” The words made him pause, seeing as it had been in less than refined Mando’a.

“You want to leave the fortress?” He asked, voice deceptively mild.

“Oh! No, Alor. I want to… _Oh what was the word…”_ The man mumbled to himself for a moment. _“Exercise. I feel like I haven’t been doing enough lately.”_ He switched to Basic to explain. _“I’m not used to sitting idly…”_ The man played with the fringe at the edge of his pillow, looking up at Pre hopefully.

 _“Was there an actual question in there somewhere?”_ He asked lightly. He saw the man’s eyes narrow slightly for a moment and he smirked.

He knew there was fire inside Obi-wan, he was also a descendant of the Taung according to his blood work, but it had to be tempered. Pre couldn’t have the man questioning his authority after all. Stewjoni’ade were meant to obey.

 _“I was hoping I could go out for a run, or soemthing? I feel… lazy.”_ The way he said the last word had alarm bells ringing in the back of Pre’s head. Obi-wan said lazy but he could easily see the word being exchanged for useless with the tone he was using. Pre set down his datapad and turned his entire focus toward Obi-wan. It was clear that someone had neglected him for far too long.

If Pre ever found out who that was he would boil them in oil.

 _“What kind of work did you do before?”_ Honestly he was curious about the younger man’s past. He hadn’t spoken much about himself and he suspected it was because he was trying to protect someone. Although why he thought they would need to be protected from the Mando’ade he had no idea.

Unless of course they were dar’manda cowards like the New Mandalorians.

 _“I…”_ He looked nervous, blue eyes dimming slightly as he chewed the inside of his cheek. It was a bad habit that Pre had been trying to break him of with little success. _“I… used to work as a bodyguard for diplomats. They were often targeted by the opposition and I foiled many attempts on their lives.”_ Pre’s brows rose to meet his hairline.

 _“For someone who was a bodyguard you were defeated awfully fast.”_ He hadn’t meant to sound so chastising but honestly! How had he gotten so far into their fortress if all it took was a punch to the face and a body slam to bring him down? 

_“I’d never fought a fully trained Mando’ad like yourself before.”_ He admitted easily. _“Besides… you surprised me. You’re very strong.”_ There was a faint flush on the redhead’s face now, his eyes flicking up to Pre’s before falling back to the pillow again shyly. Pre felt his heart beat just a little harder in his chest. But it made sense that a Stewjoni’ad would find his strength attractive.

Pre was the Mand’alor after all.

 _“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, ge’tal’ika?”_ He asked, voice dropping into a semblance of a purr. Once again he found himself surprised by his own words. He had thus far only spoken of the young man as Obi-wan or Stewjoni’ad, yet here he was giving him the endearing nickname of Little Red. If he wasn’t careful he would find himself falling for the little pawn.

“People need a strong leader, Alor.” It hadn’t answered his question but he was pleased with the response, especially with it being in Mando’a.

“Good answer.” He praised, feeling pleased when Obi-wan gave him a bright smile in return.

Pre leaned back in his chair for a moment and just watched the other man. Obi-wan wasn’t frail, that much was certain. He had Taung ancestry alongside his Stewjoni heritage, which was not uncommon. The Taung had chosen the Stewjoni to interbreed with for a reason after all. With the right training he could make an excellent partner for Pre. A true partner, not just a pretty prop to help solidify his rule.

After all; it was tradition for the Mand’alor to take a Stewjoni spouse. They were as much Manda’s children as the Taung, and Manda had chosen them to carry on the memories of their ancestors.

 _“The only real exercise we have here is training for war. Are you ready for that sort of life, Obi-wan?”_ The young man slowly raised his eyes until their gazes locked.

 _“I’ve already fought and killed in the course of my duties as a bodyguard. I can’t say that I am very well versed in hand to hand but I do know how to shoot blasters and I was taught the art of the sword.”_ Pre couldn’t help but to chuckle at the firm response.

 _“If you are that convinced this is something you’d like to do then I will allow it. Under two conditions.”_ The man straightened in interest. _“One, you will obey the instructors when it comes to your training, and two, you will allow the medics to look at you the moment you receive an injury.”_ He knew that Obi-wan disliked the medical wing but he had no idea if it was because of the neglect and possible abuse he had suffered or if it had to do with how secretive Stewjoni’ade were about themselves. If he had been brought up properly he would have learned that Mando’ade already knew all of Stewjon’s secrets and wouldn’t have bothered worrying.

It was admittedly a little frustrating to learn just how little the redhead knew about his own people. He wondered if the man had been raised by a non-Stewjoni buir after losing his birth family. A buir who knew a little of their ways but not enough to actually teach their child.

“Thank you, Alor. I will do as you say.” Picking up his datawork once again he smiled. Maybe if Obi-wan’s training went well he could offer a one on one spar. It would give him an excellent excuse to get more physical with the younger man without appearing too forward.

“Excellent. I’ll have your schedule changed by tomorrow.”

* * *

Another week had gone by and Obi-wan was doing well. He was interacting with the verde more and seemed to enjoy the training that had been added to his schedule. The one down side was that he seemed surprised whenever anyone expressed concern over him. Especially how he forced himself to keep going despite the fact that he looked exhausted.

“Let him tire himself out.” Pre turned to regard the woman who stepped up beside him, her reddish brown hair marked her as having a close Stewjoni ancestor. “He’s a full blooded Stewjoni’ad, his endurance is higher than average for a near-human. He’ll be fine.” Her gray-blue eyes flick toward him and he can feel her focus like a weight. “I heard rumours you were courting a Stewjoni’ad. Thought it was one of us at first, but most of us have partners already.” And the others weren’t interested in Pre. It was a subtle jab and one he should feel offended by, but he didn’t. He hadn’t felt any attraction to the others either.

None of them had ever gotten a reaction out of the Darksaber before. Pre was certain it was because none of them had been compatible.

Not like Obi-wan.

“What’s so special about him?” He frowned, not quite sure how to describe the conflicting feelings that were slowly growing within him.

“He’s stubborn.” She snorted in amusement.

“Go on. It can’t just be because he’s stubborn. We’re all stubborn.” Pre scowled at her.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He growled. She recoiled slightly, just a small wince, but it was there. The reaction of a Stewjoni’ad to the ire of a Mand’alor.

“No, but you do have to explain yourself to my riduur. The Armorer wants to speak with you. Both of you.” Pre felt a shiver run down his spine. The Armorer was not someone he could ignore. Especially not if he wanted to keep his position as Kyr’tsad’s Mand’alor.

“Is it an immediate summons or do we have time to change?” He motioned towards Obi-wan, who was using his sleeve to wipe at a sweaty brow.

“Get cleaned up, I’ll wait here.” He nodded in understanding before marching over to where Obi-wan was going through a new set of slashes and parries. It almost looked like a dance from the outside, body fluid and long limbs graceful.

“Obi-wan.” Just saying the man’s name was enough to gain all of his focus. The redhead lowered his weapon and looked at him curiously.

“Alor. Is it time to stop already?” There was a note of clear disappointment in his voice that made Pre chuckle.

“Yes. We’ve been summoned.” The younger man’s brows came together in confusion.

“Summoned?” He asked, not understanding the word.

 _“The Al’goran has asked to see us. We’ve been given time to get cleaned up. But we need to move now.”_ It was obvious from the slow nod and the look in his eyes that Obi-wan did not know of the importance of the Armorer. He would have to rectify that quickly. _“Come, we'll share a shower, it will be faster that way.”_ As he was turning away he caught the bright flush on the younger man’s face and suddenly realized how his words must have sounded.

Well... he wasn’t going to take them back now.

He was relieved to see that the communal fresher was empty at the moment. Since the training block wasn’t over yet and the new block wouldn’t start for hours yet there was no reason for anyone to be lingering. Which was lucky because he had the sudden very real flash of annoyance at the very idea of anyone else seeing Obi-wan without clothes, besides the medics.

Choosing one of the larger stalls he shucked his armor and set it on the table meant to keep it away from the water. He’d already commed someone to bring he and Obi-wan a change of clothes so he didn’t worry about throwing his kute into the hamper meant for such things.

Standing nearby, nibbling his bottom lip, Obi-wan glanced at him before looking away. But not before Pre could see the interest on his face, the open curiosity. Pre smirked. The redhead must have noticed his traditional tattoos but was too shy to ask about them. He would have to explain later.

 _“Obi-wan, you need to get undressed if you’re going to get clean.”_ The man startled slightly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. Pre growle and stepped closer to him. _“Obi-wan, strip.”_ His face flushed even as his hands came up to undo his belt. He turned and set it down on the bench next to Pre’s armor before hesitantly slipping his tunic over his head. Once again Pre was filled with a mix of attraction, admiration, and anger as the scars on the redhead’s body stood out all the more with his skin flushed from the recent workout.

He couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried.

His fingertips brushed a scar on his shoulder blade and Obi-wan shivered. “What did this?” It looked like fire had been pressed to flesh and dragged across. Obi-wan twitched away, turning to look up at him.

 _“Blaster rifle. If I hadn’t turned just in time I probably would have lost my arm. We didn’t have any proper medical aid at the time. Had to use local herbs to keep the pain at bay.”_ He said it with such a cold and clinical voice, as if it didn’t matter. As if nearly losing a limb would have been an inconvenience.

The more he learned about his life the more Pre wanted to hunt down whoever had been his guardians. Clearly they had not do a good job of protecting him.

Obi-wan finished undressing and tossed his sweaty clothes into the hamper. _“We’ll talk more about your medical history later. We don’t have much time now.”_ He reminded, hooking a hand around Obi-wan’s bicep and dragging him into the stall.

 _"The Al'goran translates in Basic to Chief Armorer. I've taught you the Resol'nare, you know how important beskar'gam is to us as a people."_

Running the water at a warm temperature he stood under the spray before stepping back and allowing Obi-wan to do the same. Grabbing the shampoo he quickly ran his hands through his dark blonde hair, scratching at the scalp. He had to try very hard not to stare at the man standing not three feet from him, water running down pale freckled skin in tantalizing patterns.

_"The Al'goran is also a keeper of our traditions. They are not someone to be taken lightly or disobeyed. Although they tend to stay in their forge and not interfere with the Mando'ade unless there is a dispute that cannot be settled by normal means."_

Obi-wan stepped out of the spray and grabbed the shampoo as well, his red hair now the color of old blood. _"I understand. I'll show them the proper respect they are due."_

Pre rinsed his hair and picked up the soap, relieved that Obi-wan was so quick to understand the gravity of the situation.. He turned away to give both himself and the redhead a little privacy as he lathered and soaped up his arms and chest. A pale hand plucked the soap from him and he looked over his shoulder in surprise. Obi-wan gave him a shy smile.

_I’ll get your back?”_

Pre’s mouth went dry. Obi-wan didn’t know about Mando’ade customs. He was oblivious of just what he was offering yet Pre would be damned if he was going to stop him. “Go ahead.” Long fingers spread across his back before slick palms met his skin. Pre felt his entire body shudder at the touch. If he wasn’t careful he would be sporting an embarrassing hard-on when they left. Any other time he would have used this as an opportunity to further mark the man as his own. A hickey or bite mark somewhere visible would be enough to let others know Obi-wan was taken. But at the moment they couldn’t afford to be too late speaking with the Armorer.

Obi-wan’s hands reached his hips and started to move downward. Pre grabbed his wrists with a growl that made the redhead go still. “Now you. Turn around.” He let go of Obi-wan’s hands and heard the gentle slapping of feet against the wet stone. Taking the soap back he gathered a fair amount of lather on his hands before finally pressing them against pale skin. Pre knew his hands were rough, he was a swordsman and had been training his entire life, but that didn’t seem to bother the redhead who shivered and leaned back slightly into his touch.

What followed was a sensual dance that ended in panting breaths and fever bright eyes. Pre hadn’t felt that satisfied in a while, not with how busy he was ruling his people. Obi-wan was bashful afterward, looking to him as if uncertain. Pre chuckled and wrapped the man in a towel, leaning forward to capture his lips in a kiss.

At some point their clothes had been delivered and he hoped that whoever overheard them wasn’t foolish enough to say anything to anyone about it. Because if they did he would end them himself.

Finally dressed and with his armor back in place he and Obi-wan returned to the Armorer’s spouse who was happily chatting with another Stewjoni’ad. Obi-wan’s eyes widened in surprise as both redheads turned to look at him. “Sukay’cair.” Obi-wan frowned slightly and looked at Pre with uncertainty.

 _“It is a greeting in Sonja, the language of your people. I am still baffled by your lack of knowledge.”_ The two Stewjoni’ade looked at one another silently before they turned back to regard he and Obi-wan.

“Let’s go, my riduur has been waiting long enough.” Pre nodded and pressed a hand against Obi-wan’s back.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sukay’cair- An informal greeting in Sonja, the language of Stewjon.

**Author's Note:**

> AN: If you’re asking why Pre can command Obi-wan it’s because he has the Darksaber. It is imbued with the presence of a former Mand’alor and the wielder can force compliance from Stewjonians.
> 
> AN 2: Obi-wan and Qui-gon talked it out and Obi-wan cut his Padawan braid before they split up in order to stay under the radar. Qui-gon promised to return it to him when they saw one another again.


End file.
